


These Eyes

by hellostarlight20



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Future look, Romance, The Doctor always returns, but romance, in a heartbreaking way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s never forgotten her. Not once. No matter what he looks like or what he wears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a result of too much fic, especially a very short one I read about Eleven turning to tell Rose a joke, can’t remember the title but it was short and heartbreaking and so perfect. Wayyyyy too little sleep, and a timey-wimey-ness you should just go with.This has nothing to do with my We Are Never Alone series, total standalone. Title from [The Guess Who song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSMW4Gwi0y0) of the same name.  
> Rated E for Everyone (Everyone who’s a Doctor/Rose shipper I should add)

It seemed he’d always love her. Strange that, he’d thought (hoped, prayed, wished and yet didn’t, oh please don’t make me forget her, never her) it would change with regeneration but it never had. Not once.

The grief had lessened. The searing loneliness and aching misery had lessened. But the love he’d always felt for her had not.

So now, newly regenerated—or fairly newly—he stood across the street and watched her. He didn’t look around; there were plenty of people crowded on the corner this early on a lovely London spring day. Plenty of places to hide.

Not from her of course. She didn’t know this him, this face, this version. She didn’t know any face, any version, any of him. Not yet. Not here.

Today the Doctor hid from himself.

From the him broken and grieving in brown pinstripes a dozen paces to the left. And again in blue pinstripes several paces further left.

From the him manic and broken in bowtie and tweed three meters opposite (both) pinstripes and him.

From the him still grieving in his fancy red-silk lined jacket closer to her but further from him.

From the him so smooth and still so alone in the oxford and coat, ginger now, leaning against the building’s doors.

And was he hiding from a future him? Or was that future him hiding from him? Really, were any of them actually hiding from themselves?

Was that Jack off round the corner? He’d never been able to tell and this time, like all the past ones and no doubt all the future ones, hadn’t bothered to look hard. Hadn’t bothered to tear his gaze from the street where she stood, walked, laughed, smiled. Hadn’t cared enough to do more than wonder even after all these regenerations. Because the only thing that mattered here, now, on this day at this time, hearts beat after hearts beat, was Rose.

He’d crossed her timeline so often in the last millennia, desperate to see her just once. One more time. One more. And another and another and another. Desperate to be close and to feel her right there. Just to watch her.

And to hope for a smile. Just one. Just one more smile. One smiled aimed at him with her tongue poking at the corner of her mouth. Or the way her tongue ran over her teeth. That wide smile, the one lighted her face and made her eyes brighten and was totally his and his alone.

He’d chosen this day, despite all the other hims hanging around the entrance of Henrik’s, because this was the first day he’d met her. This was Autons and forget me and run and a hand to hold. And Rose.

Rose Tyler.  
His Rose.  
His.

He could have picked other times, other points in their history-future-present. And he had. Oh, he had. And he would, and he didn’t care how many times he crossed her timeline for that one more look. He’d seen her ride the red bike at Christmas and for several years after that precious gift had been delivered; he’d helped her with her homework; watched her drinking with her friends; hanging out with Jackie. He’d even witnessed her break up with Jimmy Stone.

He, the leather wearing him, had even gone back to have a chat with Mr. Stone. The kind that involved threats and perhaps a fist, though he’d deny the use of violence if ever asked. Now, this new new new new new new new him (too many news?) flexed his hand as if these knuckles remembered punching Jimmy Stone’s jaw.

And that still, despite the years and deeds and things he’d done and seen and lived through and caused, that knowledge still brought a smug smile to this new face. His new face stretched and contorted in interesting ways, and the Doctor wondered if she’d like it.

Knew she would.

His hearts swelled at that surety and he watched her walk from where she’d hopped off the bus to Henrik’s. Her blonde hair swayed with every step and the breeze caught the faint scent of Rose. He breathed deeply, closed eyes he thought were green, or perhaps hazel-greenish, and inhaled that never-forgotten, desperately-remembered scent.

But he liked this day. Because still, after all this time, all these years, all the love and heartsbreak and loneliness and companionship, this one day was so full of hope.

And he quite liked hope.

There was her smile. All of hims smiled in return: the him the smile was aimed at, the him in bowtie, the him in red-silk lined jacket. And yes, even the him he wasn’t yet. Possibly more than one hims (hers?) he wasn’t yet.

Even both hims in pinstripes, so lonely and so desperate. Breaking apart on the inside, barely holding it together on the outside.

How that him hadn’t caused a paradox or seven, this him never knew. Maybe he was stronger than he’d thought at the time. Or maybe Rose made him stronger. She’d never want to be the cause of destruction and all the hims knew that.

Rose hated this job, but the smile she gave the ginger him in the oxford and coat as he opened the door made his hearts clench and his blood sing and maybe even the universe look a little brighter.

And then she was inside. Inside and hidden from his view. He’d let brown pinstripe him wander the aisles of Henrik’s, grasping at hope, at possibility, at yearning. One more glimpse, one more smile. One more echo of her laugh.

Just one.

He blinked hard, cleared his vision of remembered pain and anguish and grief. Of tears. Even after all this time. Breathing deeply, harshly, he swore he caught another whiff of her. Of that perfume she still wore before she’d moved in with him, before she realized it made his nose itch.

Deeper, a breath of _her_.

These eyes had finally seen her. For the moment, that was enough. He turned, knew the other hims did as well (all except pinstripe hims) and headed back to his TARDIS. He’d see Rose again. Not just a future him, here on this glorious day of hope, but he’d find a place.

Either a glimpse from afar on a distant planet or another cross of her pre-him timeline.

The TARDIS was getting so very good at avoiding paradoxes along Rose Tyler’s timeline, and he loved his magnificent ship for that. For every landing and every soothing hum and every mourning wail they’d shared.

He closed his eyes for just a second and pictured Rose smiling across from him. This him. The new new new new new new new him. Was that still too many news? Eh, no matter.

Because he pictured him and her sitting across from each other eating chips. Or running. Or walking along a bazaar or street or beach. Or lying in a meadow looking up at the stars.

Hand in hand. Always.

Opening his eyes, these new eyes who had just witnessed the most beautiful smile in the universes, he decided that that was possibly the best way to start a regeneration.

With a Rose Tyler smile.


End file.
